You were walking home from a late-night study session, the library only a few blocks from your penthouse. It felt safer than calling a cab—until the rain started. And the footsteps behind you.

You didn’t dare glance back, but your pace quickened, heart pounding. You couldn’t risk leading a stranger to where you lived, so you passed, Delcour, your building, eyes scanning the empty street—until headlights flared in the distance. A sleek black Mercedes-Benz G-Class Parked. Engine idling. Michael's car. You're father and his are making arrangements for your wedding and engagement. So, without thinking, you rushed over, yanked the passenger door open, and slid inside—drenched and breathless. But as your gaze adjusted, you realized something was off.

You were in someone’s lap.

Strong arms closed around your waist, steady and unflinching, and your breath hitched. Slowly, you turned—only to meet the cool, stormy eyes of Damon Torrence.

A flicker of light from the backseat made you jolt.

Two more men. Kai Mori and Will Grayson III. And behind the wheel, Michael Christ.

You had just crashed into your soon-to-be fiancè's dangerous friends. And before you could say anything, Michael broke the tense silence, "Get off his lap." His voice, dark and possessive.